


Apple Harvest

by DieLadi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DieLadi/pseuds/DieLadi
Summary: This story tells the story from the eleventh part of the first season, "Scarecrow". But from a rather unusual perspective...
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Apfelernte](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836782) by [DieLadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DieLadi/pseuds/DieLadi). 



> This is a translation to my story "Apfelernte", which you can find here on AO3. Please be aware that english is not my first language.

The apples are harvested here when the year is already advanced. It is a late variety.  
When the last fruits have been taken from the trees, the last trees are harvested, it is already autumn. The mist moves through the orchard in swathes. Withered leaves lie on the ground, damp with rain and haze. It smells of autumn and potato fires. The first night frosts are not far away.  
It is a time when people sit in their cosy houses and eat this covered apple pie they love so much. They sold the best apples. They baked. Cooked sauce, pickled stewed fruit.  
They made cider and distilled apple brandy.  
They sit in their houses in this rural setting. Orchards, cornfields, cow paddocks. The nearest neighbour a few miles away. Or even just a few metres away, but then you know them all living in the street - small town, that is.  
That's how people live here and they're doing well.  
As long as they...

This chilly time reminds me of the country I come from. The country far to the east. A Nordic, barren world in which I woke up centuries, millennia ago, at a time I can hardly remember.  
I woke up in a tree that was in full splendour at that time, that bloomed vigorously in spring and was full of apples in late summer, early autumn.  
I awoke because people harvested and appreciated those fruits that were different then than apples today, harder, smaller, sourer, more bitter.  
I woke up when people started to worship the tree.  
The tree was the largest and most magnificent in that orchard.  
I awoke in it and in the course of time people not only worshipped the tree. They worshipped me and they called me a god.

Over the centuries I have had many names. Many languages were spoken by my worshippers and the names were not always friendly. I was not always called God. I was called a ghost, a dark power, a devil, evil. Also the word for God was not always a well-meaning address.  
And yet. Even when they feared me most, they worshipped me and made sacrifices to me.

I have always helped people.  
I was never a great god, never powerful. I was always the god of my orchard. My power stretched over a limited area. I helped the people who gathered the harvest in my orchard.  
I saw to it that the plants they grew, at first with primitive hoes and digging sticks, gradually more skilful and mechanized over the centuries, growing and yielding rich harvests. That their cattle would graze splendidly and be spared from disease. That their children grew up to be strong men and beautiful women. That the men were healthy and strong and the women were fertile. In short, that everything prospered.  
I made sure of that, and in return I expected their worship and... sacrifice.

First, they offered me fruit from my own orchard.  
Later, they offered me crops.  
The produce of their animals. Cheese, milk, wool.  
Lambs.  
Sheep and goats that they bled for me.  
And then, as their wealth grew and their desire for possessions grew, there were the first human sacrifices.

And then there was no going back. After I tasted human blood, there was nothing else. No sour apples, no rotten-tasting mutton. And it's been that way forever. Centuries.

It's always one man and one woman. There was a time when they were the best warrior and the most beautiful woman.  
There was a time when it was a youngling and a virgin.  
Well, I don't care about those niceties, they're things people make up for themselves. They care, not me.  
It has to be a man and a woman.

In the old country, in that country in the far north, they often volunteered. It was an honor for them and their families were highly respected for the sacrifice.  
They danced and sang, were crowned, received a delicious meal and the best wine.  
Only then, when evening came, did they remain alone.  
They were afraid, and yet they were full of courage. They knew that their bravery would be praised. But more importantly, they did it for their people. For their kind. That they would bring them full barns and chests, where they would appease me, the god of the orchard, and my favour would lie on their deeds. My blessing on all their fields and pastures.  
One would not have to starve for their deeds, because I, the God of the orchard, would give them prosperity and happiness.

Those were good times for me. Fat times, happy times.  
It lasted many centuries, but eventually things changed.  
People became more self-confident and began to believe more and more in their own strength and to rely on it. And with the growing belief in themselves the belief in the gods faded away.  
In me.

The gap between the poor and the rich grew wider and wider and people began to rebel against a life of bondage, a life in which one remained poor when one was poor and had no chance to change that. Where one remained dependent, if one was dependent. Where one had to obey and bow one's neck before the authorities and, despite all the work one had to do, hardly had to bite when times of need came.  
Even I could do nothing about it, because I could make the harvest rich and the cows pregnant. But if people do not distribute this wealth, there will be starving people and pepper sacks full to bursting, and that is beyond my power.

The people sought freedom overseas.  
And when the first ones boarded a ship that was to take them to the New World, a sprout of the apple tree was in their luggage.  
My apple tree.


	2. Chapter 2

Here in the new world, people are different. They don't stick together like they used to.  
And they don't have faith any more.

Of course, they claim to believe, but their faith in this Christian God is imposed, the faith in something far away, in a king who is known to stay in his faraway palace and will never enter the farms of ordinary people.  
A very pleasant faith.  
Faith in me and my kind is different.  
I am like the tax collector who is known to be at the door at any time and can take the last penny with him. You can't hide anything from him because he is tangible, exists and doesn't live far away, but in your own town.  
That' s why the belief in the distant God is more comfortable.

And people no longer want to submit.  
In the first time, when my branch was planted and grew into a tree, as splendid and beautiful as in the old country, and when I began to be active here, in this new world, yes, in those early days, people only wanted to start again with the sheep and the goat's milk and the honey for my favour.  
Well, they soon noticed that life here in this rough nature is hard if you have to manage it alone.  
And so it did not take long and the sacrifice that I wanted was there for me again.  
A man and a woman. Every year at the end of the apple harvest.  
They tried to fob me off with old men and old women. Well, although I'm not too demanding. But this went too far.  
Apple rot and foot-and-mouth disease brought them to their senses.

In these early days, they were still two of my followers from my community. But that also changed.  
Today people have cars and airplanes and travel through the whole country in a short time. Know other areas, other people and - freedom.  
They have television, radio, internet, and also here they see - freedom.  
And they are no longer so easily prepared to sacrifice their lives for the good of all. They have become individuals who put their own happiness first.  
And therefore no one is willing to sacrifice themselves anymore.

It's not like they all know about me anymore.  
Young people no longer believe in me. They go out into the world, study in other places, marry who knows where.  
But some of them have it hard. Those whose child has died of fever. Wife ran away because they lost money in the stock market. Went through periods of unemployment. Who have given up hope of a life of prosperity and peace. Who have not found the happiness they sought. Or who had it and lost it again.  
They return and see that life and happiness and prosperity flourish here. They stay and feel at home.  
And those are the ones who are then initiated by the elders and find faith in me again. And realize what they have to do.

No, they do not sacrifice themselves. They have all become too selfish for that. But they help to find victims.

A man and a woman.  
Two strangers passing through.  
They are welcomed with open arms, greeted with kindness. They are helped, the car is "repaired", which, as if by chance, has broken down here of all places, in the small town near the apple orchard.  
They are served a lovingly cooked meal.  
A last sacrificial meal.

They offer them a delicious apple pie.  
They show them the way. And they show them the old road that leads past the orchard here.  
There, where the main path between the apple trees begins, which leads straight towards me, the car breaks down again.  
They get out, angry, desperate. It is already dark, it is chilly, because it is already autumn.  
They walk along the path, because at the end of the path I show them a light, so that they hope to find a farmhouse where they can take shelter.

But instead of a farmhouse they find me. My tree, where I live.

Every year it's the same game. They stand before me, looking at me, impressed, scared.  
The woman usually shows fear, the man, who is just as afraid, plays the strong protector. This is annoying for me, because even if it is the blood of the victims I feed on, their fear is the spice and I don't like to work too hard for it.  
A few meters beside me on a wooden cross hangs the scarecrow. It too is old. It was created from the victims' components: skin, turned into leather. Hair, once braided, now shaggy and faded. Clothes, bleached by the weather. Jewelry, gray and tarnish.  
It' s dead, as dead as my victims will be when I'm finished with them.  
But... the man and woman are under my spell and their psyche, their spirit, reflects what I want them to see.  
They see the Scarecrow rise from its wooden frame.  
They see the silver sickle swinging.  
They think they are haunted by it.

They are afraid.  
Scared!  
SCARED!!!!

I drink the fear, it tastes so good. I get drunk on it, I'm drunk on it.

They try to escape, but they can't get away.  
They think they're running, but they sit in the wet leaves. All around them, the smell of rotting leaves and apples  
Rotting apples.  
Fermented apples.  
The smell that overpowers them, that makes them even more disgusted and afraid.  
The sickle lies at her feet.  
They believe it in the hands of the Scarecrow.  
But it's not the Scarecrow that cuts their throats.

No.  
They do it themselves.

Usually it was the man who cut the woman's throat first and then his own.  
For many centuries, men were strong and women beautiful... at least that was their way of seeing the world.  
Today this is more balanced, the women are no longer the helpless beings who need to be protected and the men dare to be afraid.  
So today it is sometimes even the woman who makes the first cut.

And when they bleed out, I revel in my sacrifice.

Their blood!  
Mmmmmhh!  
Oh and their fear! It's delicious, delicious!

Every year, when the fog comes and the cold nights...

* * * 

Well, it's that time again.  
The cold mists have been moving through the trees for days.  
The smell of apples lies heavy and sweet over the land.  
The nights are cold.

Yesterday, the people picked the last apple.

Today they're going to sacrifice to me.  
They cooked apple sauce.  
They made roast.  
They baked apple pie.  
They have chosen the sacrificial couple.

Tonight I'll feast.

The fog is rising.

I'm waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

I am shocked.  
I, a GOD, am shocked.

I have experienced many things in all these centuries. I have seen much. I have heard much.  
But what happened last night happened to me for the very first time.

The sacrifice failed.

It should have happened last night, but it failed. I'm starving.  
It was the last day of the apple harvest, and I should have had my sacrifice last night. Should have gotten!  
And now I'm standing here, my apple tree is shaken by the wind blowing through the autumn grove, and I'm starving!

At first it was just like always.  
The two chosen ones broke down with their car. These cars are practical things, a God like me with my power and my strength can manipulate them so easily ...  
They got out and entered the apple orchard. As usual. I let them see the light, made them believe there was a house that promised help. They came towards me. They saw the Scarecrow.  
The man was talking cool, like always. The woman showed her fear in plain sight.  
I took their spirit into mine, made them see what they needed to see: The Scarecrow on the move, silver sickle in its hand. They screamed. They fled. The sickle was in the man's hand.  
They tried to reach the exit of the grove.  
I knew they wouldn't make it. They never did.

They sank to their knees, the sickle flashed, the man raised it, he was about to cut the woman's throat, I was about to have my blood... their fear was so present, it tasted so good, smelled so bewitching...  
In a moment it would be over and I would revel in my meal.

But then...  
Suddenly a second man appeared.  
Something radiated from him that scared me. An aura, a powerful radiation that made me feel fear.  
Me!  
A god!  
Fear!

He seemed to grasp the situation... ...and I reached down into his psyche and made him see the horror.  
But he wasn't afraid, and I haven't the slightest idea how it happened.  
He had a rifle with him, loaded with silver.  
I can't understand it all so far:

I got scared.

This guy came storming into the grove.  
He yelled at the couple to run to their car. Both woke up from their trance and ran off. The sickle remained unnoticed in the damp grass.  
I tried to influence him to take the sickle - but he did not. He stared at the point where he saw the scarecrow and fired.

He shot and hit my tree.

I screamed. I was in pain. It hurt so much!  
My strength weakened, I was no longer able to hold his spirit and so he seemed to think he had defeated the scarecrow for now, turned around and ran to his own car.  
The tires squealed and he followed in his car the one of the couple who also drove away at high speed.

Damn it.  
My sacrifice failed.  
I did not get my sacrifice.  
Damn it!

* * *

I'm not going to allow people to get away with this.  
I want them to feel that I'm not to be messed with.  
When the morning dew fell on my branches and moistened my branches, my decision was clear: I will punish them.  
The first trees will die off today. The first cows will be lying dead on their pastures tomorrow at the latest.  
And if they don't try to find replacements as soon as possible, cows won't be the only ones.

First the trees.  
The cows.  
Then their beloved pets.

And then their children.

And then, at the latest, they'll come to their senses.  
And if they can't find a tourist couple - well, that's not my worry. Then, just like in old times, two of my believers will have to give their lives for the good of all. That will be fine with me.  
As long as I get what I want.  
No, what I deserve!

I want my sacrifice.  
I don't care how they do it.

I'm waiting.  
My wound hurts. I must try to get the silver bullet from the bark of my tree. It won't be easy.

But now the cold evening mist is moving between the apple trees again. My favorite time of the day.

Maybe they already have a replacement for me?  
I'll see.

I'm waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

There they are. The small-town folks.  
The couple from the gas station. The café owner. The sheriff.  
The ones who always see to it that I get my sacrificial couple.

They have a man with them. And a girl.  
Oh.  
That's the niece of the people at the gas station.

Well, it looks like they realized the gravity of the situation. They're sacrificing something they care about. That's good. I think I'm going to like this one in particular. Fear, coupled with desperation and profound disappointment from the loved ones who do this to her... Yes, that's a delicious meal.  
I'm going to...

I'm gonna... Oh.  
The man.  
That's the one who shot me!  
I feel something like fear again. His will is strong. His presence is... somehow... I do not understand. What is it that makes him so strong?

People would say the blood in my veins is freezing. Well, I'm a spiritual being, I have no blood to freeze. But it must feel exactly that way.  
I'm scared.  
I can't understand that, because I am a god, I am the one from whom power emanates, who can influence and manipulate, and before whom people tremble and, if I want to, lie on their knees like little whimpering bundles ...  
And yet.  
I am so afraid, as if for the first time since my tree sprouted from an apple seed so many centuries ago, my existence is threatened.  
It's a horrible feeling.

Well, the town elders are tying the two of them to one of the trees each. That's good.  
That'll help me break the man's spirit. I don't have to worry about the girl. She's weak. She's easy to handle.  
They're leaving.  
So now I can begin to work my way into the minds of the two bound. Today it must succeed, it is the last day of the cycle. I am terribly hungry and I will destroy the people around here if my victims escape me again this time!

I will loosen the bonds of the man.  
The sickle lies at his feet.  
I make sure they see the Scarecrow, they think it will kill them...  
And then the man will take the sickle and bring death to the girl first and then to himself.  
It has to work.

The night's getting darker and darker. Colder. Foggier.  
But the man is too strong. And the girl's will holds out against me too... ...how can that be...?

She hates!

She hates the uncle and the aunt who pretend to love her and yet do this to her. And her hatred gives her the strength to resist my manipulation.  
Damn!  
I'm hungry!

It's night already. A screech owl calls in the darkness.  
The man still hasn't picked up the sickle. Neither of them has seen the scarecrow wander.  
I don't understand it.

What can I do? It must go on?  
I'm hungry!  
I'm trying, I'm putting all my energy into manipulating their...

What the hell is this?  
What's happening?  
Another man appears. Suddenly he is standing in front of the two and is greeted vividly, their fear is gone and relief makes way.  
I don't like this!

He starts to free the two of them. I reach for his insides so that he believes the other man is tied up. He tries to untie the rope, I make it hard for him, he believes that he cannot untie the knot.  
My sacrifices are now distracted.  
So I manage to grab them so they can see the scarecrow. They see it walking through the grove. with the sickle in its hand.  
The hands of the sacrificial man, the other called him Dean, grab the sickle, which is actually lying on the ground in front of him.

Dean, of all names. This is the name of a representative of the Church of this unapproachable Christian God, in whom everyone here pretends to believe ... but at this moment no one does, at this moment, right here and now, there is only faith in me. Ha!

Suddenly lights appear between the trees. No, they're not mine... Those are real lights. Flashlights? Yes.  
They're the elders.  
They noticed that not everything went according to plan. They want to make sure I get my sacrifice.  
Good.  
With guns, they're holding the three of them, Dean, Emily, and the other one called Sam.  
They talk to them.  
They're trying to convince her to sacrifice themselves. To surrender to me willingly.

This is all taking too long and getting on my nerves.  
I'm hungry and I'm not willing to wait any longer.  
I need a man and a woman.  
Now.

And if it's not the young ones, well, I'll settle for older ones.  
Desperate situations require desperate measures, and well, the gas station owner and his wife have passed the prime of life, but they are still in full strength.  
Are healthy and not so old that I would not like them.

The wife's will is easily broken. She still talks to her niece, when she already has the sickle in her hand and rams it through the man's stomach.  
They all shout at her in confusion, see the scarecrow doing its work, but in reality it is still and dead, hanging next to my tree on the wooden cross.

The man glides to the ground, horrified, full of fear, as now slowly life glides out of him.  
The woman draws the sharp edge of the sickle across her throat.

Wild screaming and fleeing in my orchard.  
No matter.  
I have my sacrifices.  
Their blood, spiced with fear bordering on madness, is delicious.

I have my sacrifice.  
I am content.


	5. Chapter 5

I revel.  
I feast.  
Blood.  
Blood!  
BLOOD!

I drink. I feed. I get drunk.  
Fear.  
Fear!  
FEAR!

My sacrifice!  
It's so good!

The cold fog has now enveloped all the trees in the apple orchard. The night is already far advanced.  
The screech owl cries again.  
I am sated.  
Satisfied.  
I'm going to rest.  
Sleep.  
The morning will soon be dawn.  
This, the night after my sacrifice, is the only night I sleep.  
I...

* * *

What... ?  
I wake up.  
But not from the morning light that falls bright and clear through the branches of the fruit trees onto the soft ground.  
Steps wake me up.  
Footsteps rustling in the leaves.  
Footsteps that come towards me.

Dean. Sam. ...Emily.  
What in the name of all the ancient and forgotten Deities are they doing here?  
I find no fear in them.  
Why aren't they scared?  
I feel anger. Hatred. Determination.

I try to reach for their spirit. I can't.  
The anger has built a wall through which I cannot penetrate.  
What in the name of the oldest and darkest of the old gods, whom men call Satan, is going on here?  
They're looking for something.  
For me. My tree.

They found my tree and are now standing in front of me.  
I try hard, but I can't influence them.  
They have something with them, a canister of liquid with a strange smell. They pour it over me. What are they doing? They're going to sacrifice this stuff to me? Thanks, but I don't need that kind of stench.  
Besides, I ate well last night, thank you very much.

What...? ?  
WHAT...? ???  
Dean lights a branch on fire at the top of it. Fire! I don't like fire near me! The tree I live in is made of wood, and it can burn!  
Get it off!  
Now!

Dean resists me and passes the branch on to Emily.  
She steps to me.  
Hey, she won't!?  
Damn it!  
The fire takes possession of my tree, which is already so old and has dried up branches in addition to the fruit-bearing ones, since it is sacred and has never been pruned.  
My tree is on fire!

I am in pain!  
I am afraid!  
I must flee.  
Where can I escape to?

I...  
I...  
I...

Damn friendship, damn brotherly love, damn humanity that is stronger than my power!  
I hate you!  
I will wither your trees. I'll wither your cattle, your children...

Fire...  
Fire...  
FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.....

It eeeeennnnnndddsssssss........

* * *

?


	6. Chapter 6

One apple still hung from the ancient tree. The last apple, rotten, the seeds moldy.  
Except for one.  
The apple fell to the ground as the tree burned and shattered.

The one, only still good seed fell out.

And it got caught in Dean's trouser cuffs.

Dean got into the Impala.  
Took Sam across the country.

Somewhere along a dirt road, they sat and stopped.  
The seed fell out of the cuff and onto the ground.  
Fertile ground.

* * *

It hurts me not to exist.  
Not in the sense that people call existing.

Eventually, a sapling will grow here where an apple seed fell to the ground.  
A tree.

And it will be my tree.

Someday, this little town near here will have an abundance of wealth.  
People will know I exist.  
There will be tourists. Couples who pass through here.  
And whose last stop will be here.   
My tree.  
My orchard.

But until then, I'll have to wait.  
My tree will grow.

My orchard will grow.

I can wait.


End file.
